


The Benefits of a Stand-In Double

by Delancey654



Category: False Colours - Georgette Heyer, HEYER Georgette - Works
Genre: F/M, Gen, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delancey654/pseuds/Delancey654
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes about the Fancot twins being twins. For morganmuffle as a present for Yuletide in 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Incentive of a Pair of Colours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganmuffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganmuffle/gifts).



**Eton College, Berkshire, June 1809**

"Kit, wake up," someone whispered, trying to roust him from his bed far too early on Saturday morning. The sun had not yet risen, though birds were beginning to chirp outside the boys' dormitory in anticipation of dawn.

"Go 'way," mumbled the Honourable Christopher Fancot, popularly known as Kit to his fellow schoolboys.

"Wake up, Kester," the voice persisted.

Only one person in the world used that nickname. Kit blinked his eyes open to the site of his slightly elder twin brother Evelyn, the Viscount Ravenhurst and heir presumptive to the earldom of Denville, sitting on the bed, wide awake and even bouncing slightly despite the early hour.

Kit shut his eyes tight against the unholy sight. "Go away," he repeated.

"But I need your help!" Evelyn said plaintively. "I have a geography tutorial with old Barnes today, and I haven't studied a whit!"

"If you get started now, you'll have several hours in which to cram," Kit pointed out churlishly, pulling his pillow over his head.

"But you already know it! You could just pretend to be me, and Barnes will never know the difference, near-sighted as he is!" Evelyn argued, pulling the pillow away.

His twin made the deception sound as easy as pie. Which it would be, even if the geography tutor had perfect eyesight, for the Fancot boys were as identical as two peas in pod, at least in appearance. Even their doting mother, the flighty Countess Amabel, struggled to tell them apart.

However, there was one fatal flaw in Evelyn's plan, which his twin hastened to point out. "As soon as I get two answers in a row correct, Barnes will know it's me and not you," said Kit. "He's still annoyed that you didn't know who was the King of Spain, and that you guessed the French and Indian War was between Napoleon and the East India Company!"

"Well, _now_ I know Bony's brother is the King of Spain," Evelyn said, unabashed. "And really, who cares about some war in America that ended years before we were born? Barnes could ask me just about anything about the Iberian Peninsula, and I would know it, because I want Father to buy me a pair of colours!"

"Not going to happen, Eve," Kit said, casting a damper on his brother's unbridled enthusiasm. "Nor will he buy them for me. You're the heir and I'm to go into the diplomatic service."

"All the more reason for you to take an extra tutorial with Barnes," Evelyn wheedled. "We'll just have to comb your hair a bit differently and leave off your silver prefect button."

"I don't know, Eve," Kit said uncertainly. As a prefect, _Christopher_ Fancot (if not his feckless twin) was expected to uphold certain standards. "And if we get caught, old Keate will have us both caned," he warned. Their headmaster was a firm believer that sparing the birch rod spoilt the child.

Evelyn gave an insouciant shrug. "Better Keate's cane than one of Father's lectures and incessant disappointment in me as his heir." He was still smarting - on his own behalf and that of his mother - from Lord Denville's caustic observation over the Christmas holiday that it was a misfortune indeed that Evelyn had inherited Lady Denville's bird-like brain and not just her looks. "Besides, we won't get caught," he added with perfect confidence.

"What, pray tell, will you be doing while I'm taking _your_ tutorial with old Barnes?" Kit asked. He was beginning to waver, not wanting his twin to endure the summer hols under the blighting disapproval of their _pater familias_.

Evelyn gave his twin an angelic smile. "Cricket tryouts are today, and I'll be ensuring your spot on the team, little brother."

And so it transpired that on that sunny June afternoon, young Viscount Ravenhurst was commended by his tutor for _finally_ applying himself and learning the ever-changing boundaries of Napoleonic Europe, given the glimmering if remote possibility of acquiring a pair of colours, while the Honorable Christopher Fancot - who had previously been perceived as more of a bowler than a batsman - handily made the team, showing an offensive prowess more commonly associated with his brother.


	2. A Lady's True Colours

**Lord and Lady Worth's ball, London, April 1813**

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Evelyn enthused. "Hair like flames, eyes like emeralds, skin like porcelain . . . . "

"And a heart as hard as the diamonds around her neck," Kit finished cynically. "That's if she has a heart at all."

The Fancot twins, down from Oxford with the end of Hilary Term and presently resident in their parents' London townhouse, watched Lady Barbara Childe as she twirled around the dance floor, smiling up at an elderly Marquis. Evelyn watched her with frank admiration, while his brother's gaze was more measured.

Evelyn had enjoyed two dances so far with the dashing young widow, both waltzes, while Kit still had one more dance with Lady Barbara to look forward to. "Oh, you lucky lad!" Evelyn said with open envy, looking at his brother's dance card. "She's given you her next dance, and it's a waltz!"

"She must be smitten with my good looks, to so favor a younger son," Kit said dryly. He had not been favorably impressed by the way in which Lady Barbara's eyes and attention had wandered during their country dance, blatantly seeking out better prospects. The only daughter of an impecunious Marquis, she had been married off at the tender age of seventeen to the highest bidder, an elderly but obscenely wealthy baronet. Widowed at twenty-one, Lady Barbara knew her own worth, down to the last farthing.

"Our good looks, you mean," Evelyn grinned at his identical twin. "She dances like an angel," he added dreamily. "The way she looked at me . . . it was as though I were the only man in the room."

"Of whom are you speaking, my dearest Evelyn?" asked their mother, floating over to them, ethereal in pale blue gauze and sparkling sapphires. For once, she had managed to dislodge herself from her suite of admirers.

"Lady Barbara Childe," Kit answered for his twin, carefully neutral.

"I think I'm in love with her," Evelyn impetuously exclaimed. He tended to tumble in love, always with the most ineligible of females, on at least a quarterly basis.

"Oh, I see," Lady Denville said thoughtfully, furling and unfurling her fan. Then a radiant smile lit up her entire countenance.

"Dearest Kit, why don't you cede your next dance to your brother?" his mother suggested.

"Three dances in one night?" Kit quirked a brow, trying to figure out his mother's game. "That would be quite scandalous, and Father would be irate," he hazarded a guess. Their stern parent would certainly try to put a spoke in Evelyn's wheel if he became aware his heir was attempting to fix Lady Barbara's interest.

"Oh, no, it wouldn't be the slightest bit scandalous! Not at all!" Lady Denville insisted, her eyes wide and innocent. "Because everyone will think Evelyn is you, and it would only be your second dance with Lady Barbara. _Nothing_ could be more unexceptionable!"

"Please, Kester," begged his clearly smitten twin.

"Please, dearest Kit," their mother echoed. "Shouldn't you like for your brother to become better acquainted with Lady Barbara?"

Knowing his brother's capacity for rash action, Kit thought it was a terrible idea for Evelyn to become better acquainted with a woman of Lady Barbara's ilk. However, like most men, he found himself utterly unable to deny his mother's whims. In short order, he and Evelyn had repaired to a vacant salon to exchange waistcoats and retie their respective cravats in the style favored by the other.

Their mother met them in the hallway. After a quick inspection, she brushed Evelyn's fringe to one side and fluffed Kit's hair. "Perfect!" Lady Denville proclaimed. "No one will be able to tell the difference! Darling Evelyn, promise me you'll wait until your dance is done before telling Lady Barbara about your little trick. She might not be _quite_ amused."

Having promised his mother, honor bright, Evelyn wandered off to claim his dance with Lady Barbara, a beatific look on his face.

"What are you playing at, Mother?" Kit demanded, as soon as his twin was out of earshot. "Throwing him at that red-headed baggage!"

"Now, Kit, that's no way to speak of a lady," his mother rebuked with her mischievous smile, as they returned to the ballroom. "And Lady Barbara _is_ a lady by title, if not in her deportment. Just you watch!"

Obediently, Kit watched. Evelyn was leading Lady Barbara around the dance floor with his usual panache, attempting to engage his partner in conversation. However, the flame-haired widow, an incorrigible flirt, was too busy smiling over Evelyn's shoulder at men with better prospects than someone she believed to be a second son to pay him any heed.

The grin on Kit's face widened steadily throughout the dance as his twin's expression grew increasingly stormy. As the handsome heir to an earldom, Evelyn was accustomed to a flattering degree of female attention. He was not taking Lady Barbara's distraction with good grace. When the waltz ended, he bowed to her coldly and took his leave with the minimum degree of cordiality good manners required.

"Oh, Mother!" Kit laughed. "What a wicked, wicked woman you are!"

"Wicked? Me?" Lady Denville looked at her younger son fondly. "Don't be absurd, Kit! I did nothing wicked whatsoever. I merely allowed that odious, _scarlet_ -haired female to show her true colours. People may say that I am bird-witted, and I own that I am, but I will be as fierce as a tigress and as clever a serpent when it comes to defending either of my beloved sons!"


	3. A Colourful Ambassador

**Hotel Graben, Vienna, Austria, January 1815**

"Kester, you look awful!" Evelyn exclaimed, as his twin entered his suite. He had arrived in Vienna within the hour, and this was the first sight he had had of his brother, attached to the staff of the new British ambassador, Lord Charles Stewart, in months. "Has Stewart been running you ragged?"

"He's not so bad," Christopher Fancot reassured his twin, between sniffles. "Certainly not a taskmaster like old Cathcart."

Evelyn laughed. "If half of what I've heard at the club is true, Fighting Charlie is unlike as Cathcart as cheese is to chalk."

His twin sneezed, allowing him to avoid any damning verbal response.

William Cathcart, a dour Scotsman and devoted family man, had recently been granted an earldom for his tireless service as a general and diplomat. Kit had served with him in St. Petersburg, where Cathcart was the British ambassador to the Russian empire. In contrast, Stewart was an uncouth lout, a soldier with no knack for diplomacy and a reputation as a drunk and a roué. His only qualification for such a sensitive post as ambassador to Austria, given the ongoing negotiations by Great Britain and the other European powers to carve up Napoleon's empire at the Congress of Vienna, was that he was a half-brother to Lord Castlereagh, the senior British plenipotentiary to the Congress.

"Kester, do you happen to know why the Duchesse de Sagan nicknamed Stewart 'Big Lord Pumpernickel'?" Evelyn asked, waggling his eyebrows and eager for any salacious gossip.

"I really couldn't say," Kit said with a sniff that was meant to be repressive. The effect was ruined, however, by another massive sneeze.

"I will tell you that it's quite the social whirl here in Vienna, a far sight better than Istanbul or St. Petersburg. I swear to you, Eve, we get more negotiations done in the ballroom than we ever do at the official sessions," Kit reported. As the Prince de Ligne had quipped, the Congress might not move, but it did dance.

Evelyn shook his head at his twin, who was clearly in the throes of his illness. "You should be in bed, little brother." He pressed a hand to his twin's forehead. "You're burning up, too!"

"It's just a touch of the 'flu. I'll be fine by tonight," Kit insisted. He fully intended to introduce his brother to Vienna's diplomatic community that very evening, at one of the myriad of balls that characterized the Congress of Vienna.

"Don't be a gudgeon, Kester. I've brought Challow with me, all the way from merry old England, and you'll be spending your evening with your feet encased in a mustard plaster instead of dancing slippers if he has anything to say about it," Evelyn threatened.

The valet, occupied with unpacking his master's trunks, gave Kit a grim smile.

"You don't understand, Evelyn! Lord Castlereagh is hosting the ball. I am expected to attend as a member of the British delegation." Christopher typically was the more level-headed of the Fancot twins, but his illness had rendered him more emotional than usual.

"You won't be a credit to the delegation if you spend the evening sniveling over the ladies and infecting elderly politicians with your illness," Evelyn pointed out with unusual common sense. "Let me attend in your place. No one knows I've arrived in Vienna."

"But . . . but . . . ," protested Kit weakly. The notion of his intemperate twin running amok at a diplomatic ball struck him as highly unwise, but his pounding head and general malaise prevented him from offering any articulate objection.

"Well, that's settled," Evelyn stated, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "I'll leave you here in Challow's capable hands."

The following morning, a heavy-eyed Kit, admittedly on the road to recovery following a night of rest and Challow's remedies, received a full debriefing from his bright-eyed twin over breakfast.

"I waltzed until my feet were sore, then spent the rest of the night playing cards with Metternich and Talleyrand," Evelyn reported.

Kit gulped. His twin liked to play for high stakes. "Talleyrand's a crafty one. How much is the damage?"

"You owe him a pony," Evelyn reported.

"You're such a flat!" Kit complained with a relieved laugh. While that sum represented the bulk of entire monthly allowance provided by strict Lord Denville to his younger son, it could have been much worse. "As unlucky you are with cards, I should hope you're lucky in love! Did you meet your latest _chere amie_ at the ball?"

"As to that," Evelyn began awkwardly. "There's something you should know."

Christopher blanched at those sinister words, knowing from experience they were the usual preface to a hair-raising confession by his twin.

"After the ball, Stewart took me to see some of the lesser known sights of Vienna," said Evelyn.

"Oh, no!" Kit exclaimed, burying his head - once again aching - in his hands. Lord Stewart, in a matter most unbecoming to his station, was a frequent and indiscreet patron of Vienna's brothels. So far, Christopher had managed to deflect his superior's blandishments to join him on these excursions. "Please tell me you didn't go!"

"We never got there," Evelyn reassured him. "There was a bit of a turn-up."

"Oh, no! Not again!" Kit said again, this time with a moan. Fighting Charlie Stewart had once more lived up to nickname and down to his reputation. Just a month prior, he had been arrested after punching a Viennese coachman.

"Don't worry - I greased the other fellow's palm and kept Big Lord Pumpernickel out of gaol this time. But Castlereagh wants to see you this morning. Are you feeling up for it?" Evelyn asked, solicitously.

Kit gave him the evil eye. "I'll have to be, won't I? I suppose the one benefit to having you here in Vienna is that I can accompany you home after Castlereagh gives me the sack!"

But as it turned out, Lord Castlereagh merely wished to congratulate the most junior member of his staff for his discretion and quick thinking, both essential traits in a diplomat. He gravely said that he expected Christopher Fancot to enjoy much success in his future political career, a compliment that Kit accepted modestly and which had his twin in whoops when it was later related to him.


	4. A Test Passed With Flying Colours

**Ravenhurst, Sussex, August 1817**

"Such a lovely day for a picnic," the Honorable Cressida Stavely observed blandly, as she rode in a carriage through grounds of the Denville country estate. "It was so kind of you both to invite me while Kit is occupied."

"It's the least I could do for my soon-to-be-sister," said Patience, the newly-minted Lady Denville, with a slight flush.

"Truly, it is our pleasure," her husband echoed with a grin.

The ever-impulsive Lord Denville, Evelyn Fancot, had wed the former Miss Patience Askham by special license in June. The precipitous wedding allowed his twin brother Christopher, widely known as Kit, to attend the ceremony and serve as best man. A mere two months later, the British ambassador to Austria, the rather lax Lord Stewart, had generously given Kit leave to return to England again for his own nuptials to Cressida. Kit and Cressy would take their honeymoon in the northern regions of the Italian peninsula, following a circuitous route back to Vienna.

"It must have been difficult for you, to be separated from Christopher these several weeks," Patience said kindly.

"Indeed it has been," Cressy agreed. "One can only say so much in letters."

"It is true. Face-to-face intercourse is so much more enjoyable," agreed the blond man seated across from her in the carriage. "Have you and Kester had much opportunity for such since his arrival?"

Cressy raised an eyebrow, noting the twinkle in his eyes and Patience's discomfort. "As you _may_ know, Kit and I have had virtually no time together since his return, and none whatsoever alone."

Christopher Fancot had been back in England for three days, but with their wedding scheduled for Saturday, Cressy had only seen her fiancé twice. Or perhaps three times, depending on the identity of the blond man seated next to Patience and across from her.

"Kit did mention something . . . I believe he said he's seen your grandmother as much or more than you since his return," replied the now-laughing blond."

"Indeed he has," Cressy confirmed, with a touch of exasperation. It was frustrating to her and Kit both that their two visits had taken place under the gimlet eye of her grandmother, the Dowager Lady Stavely. While the formidable old woman approved of their marriage, and approved of Kit in general, she still was smarting from his impersonation of Evelyn in the spring.

In part as a reprimand, and in part because there had been some murmurs in society about the younger son snatching Cressy from underneath his twin's identical nose, the dowager was being a stickler for propriety in the days leading up to the wedding. While Kit's mother or even Cressy's stepmother would have indulgently turned a blind eye towards stolen kisses, Dowager Lady Stavely would give a warning snort if Kit and Cressy held hands or even sat too close on a settee.

"We've both of us been caught up in a whirl of wedding preparations," she concluded on a milder note.

The blond man gave her a wink. "Yes, my twin was very disgruntled at having to visit his tailor on such a fine afternoon, but we can't have Kit looking like a shab-rag at the altar."

"No, I suppose not," Cressy said doubtfully to the man, who she increasingly suspected was _not_ Lord Denville. She began scrutinizing him for some tell-tale giveaway as the carriage drove on, without any definitive success.

His conversation with her was mildly flirtatious, but Denville - despite having made a love match with Patience - flirted with all the ladies, from ages nine to ninety-two. When they arrived at the picnic spot, the putative Evelyn handed Cressy and Patience down from the carriage with polite promptitude and no lingering touches for either of them. He also seated himself an equal distance between the two of them on the picnic blanket, providing no clue.

Inspiration struck. "What do you think about the assassination of George Petrovich in Serbia? Will that upset the European peace?" Cressy asked between bites of her roast chicken.

"I think," the mystery Fancot twin lightly replied, "that such a serious topic is ill-suited for a picnic."

Cressy gave a frustrated sort of huff, and he obligingly continued on.

"But to answer your second question, Petrovich has been out of power some months, so Obrenovic and the Ottomans should be able to keep a lid on things," he analyzed. "But make no mistake, Serbia is a tinderbox that could ignite all of Europe into a conflagration. I only hope it won't happen in our lifetime."

Despite the seriousness of his words, Cressy could not help but smile at her darling Kit. "It makes sense, in a way. There are too many religions and cultures that meet there to prevent them from butting heads."

He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You will make a most admirable diplomat's wife, my dear Cressy."

Patience soon found a reason to efface herself, returning to the carriage with a murmur about a headache.

"I think she may be expecting an interesting event next spring," he said doubtfully, looking at Lady Denville's retreating form.

"Isn't that the sort of thing a husband should know about his wife?" Cressy asked archly.

"Don't be a minx, Cressy," Kit laughed. "It doesn't suit you."

"You, however, suit me perfectly," Cressy said saucily. "At least when you're not pretending to be your brother!"

He smiled and moved closer on the picnic blanket, until he was close enough that she could lean into his shoulder. "You and Evelyn would never suit, but you are perfect for me, my love," he smiled down at her.

"Oh, Kit! How I've missed you!" Cressy exclaimed, just before he pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that left them both breathless.

Abruptly, she broke off their kiss, eying him sternly. "I do hope you weren't trying to trick me again. Was this some silly test, to see whether I could tell you apart?"

"Not at all, love," Kit promised, grasping both her hands in his own. "The only one I was trying to gammon was your grandmother, since she seems determined to spike my guns until the wedding! You knew it was me all along, didn't you?"

Cressy merely smiled and kissed him again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Morganmuffle - you provided such a tempting array of prompts that it was difficult to decide which one to write!
> 
> I was so intrigued by your prompt for The Day of Innocents (despite not having seen the play) that I spent weeks reading history about Will Douglas and James II. Ultimately, I realized that the story I conceived - one where a cynical Will was exploiting the puppet King from childhood on - was the polar opposite of what you wanted to read. So I fell back to Heyer and had the pleasure of revisiting False Colours. I do hope you enjoy this bit of fluff as much as a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter's day.


End file.
